


A New Spring

by Eavenne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Knitting, M/M, Moving On, New Year's Resolutions, Pining, Present Tense, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 17:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: Switzerland decides that it's time to get over Austria.





	A New Spring

“Happy new year, _Schweiz_.” 

Austria’s voice floats from the phone, coolly, carelessly. He isn’t smiling, all those kilometres away – Switzerland knows it because he knows Austria and he knows what Austria sounds like when he’s smiling at the woman he loves.

“Happy new year.” Switzerland stares at the cream wall before him. “All the best for the year ahead.” An odd, rough sensation makes him look down – he’s been dragging his fingernails across the wooden table. A soft curse escapes his lips; he snatches his hand away. 

“You too. Tell Liechtenstein that I wish her a happy new year as well.”

“I will.” For a moment Switzerland wants to say more, to tell Austria to give Hungary his well wishes, but his mouth is dry and he can’t speak.

Austria pauses, and Switzerland’s hand tightens on the phone. “Do you have any New Years’ resolutions?” There’s a casual, friendly interest in his voice. When Switzerland doesn’t immediately answer, Austria carries on. “I’m thinking of composing a symphony and publishing it anonymously. I’m going to dedicate it to…” He falters, and Switzerland takes a sharp breath to dull the ache throbbing in his chest. “I’m dedicating it to Hungary. It’s going to be a surprise.”

“That’s nice,” says Switzerland quietly. His voice seems oddly high-pitched, even to himself – he swallows quickly and carries on. “She’ll like it.”

He’d have liked it very much as well.

A flurry of awkward laughter envelops his right ear. “I certainly hope so,” says Austria, “and I’m glad you think so. Thank you.” Then something seems to occur to him – “What about you? Do you have any New Years’ resolutions?”

Switzerland’s chest is about to burst. “Yes.” His heartbeat thunders through his veins, and he wonders if Austria can hear it from the phone, in another country. “I do.”

The few seconds of silence that settles between them feels like an eternity. Austria waits, hears no response, and then Switzerland hears the other nation’s voice once more: “What is it?”

To stop being in love with you, thinks Switzerland.

Instead he takes a breath and looks up to see Liechtenstein watching him from across the room and looks down again to avoid her questioning gaze. “To do new things. Relax a little.”

“That’s good.”

Soon, their conversation ends.

And Switzerland is abruptly left to swim helplessly in his own stupid feelings.

\---

He doesn’t remember how it happened.

One day Austria starts being nice to him, being friendly, making an effort to reach out to him and ask after his well-being. At first Switzerland narrows his eyes in suspicion and pushes the other nation away, but Austria is persistent and his words drip with sincerity; slowly, surely, Switzerland caves. 

And thoughts of Austria trickle back into his heart.

Then they are friends again. Austria begins to take Switzerland out for dinner with Liechtenstein, and then Switzerland is initiating the meetings, and eventually his sister’s presence ceases to be a necessity. They talk about their present, and then their future – and at long last their shared past is dragged out once more. They argue. They fight. They apologise for old wounds that have never quite healed.

And then, finally, everything is resolved.

But there is something about Austria that Switzerland can’t quite put into words – something that shines, something that makes his breath catch in his throat and his heart flutter in his chest. One day when the sun’s dying rays dance on Austria’s dark hair and flash golden in his glasses, Switzerland looks up at him and drinks in his face and thinks that Austria is so beautiful. 

His hand, plunged deep into his coat pocket, trembles with the need to reach up and cup Austria’s cheek.

The months fly by. Switzerland finds his eyes drawn helplessly to Austria’s distant figure, finds himself noticing how Austria gets out of breath climbing the stairs and gazes fondly at every dog that passes his path and speaks politely to waiters and cashiers. Sometimes Switzerland dreams of Austria, dreams of the smile that he hasn’t seen on Austria’s face for so long and opens his eyes feeling as though Austria’s hand has just slipped from his fingers. Whenever Austria plays the piano, his eyes blaze and his stiff body seems to come alive all at once as the music awakens muscles that have turned to dust – it’s mesmerising, it’s magical, and Switzerland’s face will flood with warmth and he’ll be unable to tear himself away. 

Once, he interjects when Italy complains that Austria’s face is unreadable, and begins to describe how Austria’s brows wrinkle slightly in irritation and how his eyes soften just a little in happiness –

Then Austria walks in with Hungary, side by side, their hands so close that their knuckles are brushing. He says something; she throws her head back and her tumbling hair bounces against her shoulders and she laughs. Austria turns, and focuses his attention solely on the woman beside him. It’s as though everyone else in the room has instantly ceased to exist. A smile, the biggest smile that Switzerland has ever seen, spreads silently across Austria’s face. 

Something ice-cold and disgusting churns in Switzerland’s stomach.

So this is what it feels like, to be in love.

\---

Love is a muscle, just like the organ it dwells in.

Switzerland’s heart has had too much exercise, recently. Sometimes he finds himself begging it to just stop beating, but then Austria will look at him and whatever willpower Switzerland has will melt, just like that. 

So he avoids Austria instead. For a while he falls into old habits, locks himself at home for the entire weekend and exchanges words with no one other than his sister. Switzerland doesn’t tell her a thing, but he’s certain that she understands. Liechtenstein’s always been like that. He wonders if there’s ever been a time when she didn’t see through him like glass.

If only everything can be so simple for him, too. 

\---

It’s incredibly frustrating.

Thoughts of Austria buzz at the back of Switzerland’s mind, constantly, incessantly – sometimes when he’s watering his flowers or walking past the telephone, that buzzing will intensify and roar headily in his ears. Then a dizzy warmth will sink beneath his skin and his chest will feel oddly hollow and he’ll look around him and see no one and think about how he’s always been alone.

It’s stupid, because Switzerland isn’t alone, not really. Even if he does end up alone one day, it’s not as if he needs anyone else to survive. And there are a hundred other things he could be thinking about – yet there he is, wasting time feeling like crap even though there’s nothing physically wrong with him and there’s no point in dwelling on his feelings.

One day he can’t take it anymore and everything bursts from him and crashes out. He doesn’t know how but suddenly he’s shouting at Liechtenstein, yelling so loudly that he feels his vocal cords shred in his throat – maybe that’s why when the tears come it hurts so freaking much.

Shakily, he apologises for screaming at his little sister. When Liechtenstein doesn’t say anything in response, Switzerland’s heart sinks – and then she’s standing before him and her arms are sliding around his torso and she’s whispering, “It’s going to be okay.”

He cries into her shoulder.

She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

\---

Slowly, surely, everything gets easier.

The distance helps. When Austria’s in front of him Switzerland’s defences wobble and crash, so he digs his heels in and shakes off the impulse to drop everything and call Austria for no reason other than to hear his voice.

Instead, he focuses on his work, and on Liechtenstein. Whenever thoughts of Austria threaten to engulf him, Switzerland takes a deep breath, counts to five, and slowly lets it out. There’s something calming about the simple act of breathing, and he feels the pressing bite of his emotions whittle away, little by little, each time he exhales. 

Somewhere along the way, Liechtenstein teaches him how to knit. Switzerland takes it up with an enthusiasm that surprises even himself. At the end of a long day of work, they sit together, knit, and talk. Sometimes Liechtenstein has a funny story to tell, or something deep and intriguing that she wants to discuss; other times they sit in silence, quietly enjoying each other’s company. There’s something motivational about the tranquillity that settles on them like a feather-light quilt – it’s what Switzerland wants to protect, it’s what he has been fighting to protect all his life.

Now he finally knows what peace feels like.

As the leaves curl in on themselves and fall in golden heaps, Switzerland knits scarves to prepare for the creeping winter. The first one he makes is for his sister. The second one, a little plainer, is for himself.

As for the last one, Switzerland intends to give it to Austria.

There’s an odd finality about it all. With every new loop of yarn, with every click of the knitting needles, Switzerland feels something ache deep within him and files it quietly away. He lays his heart bare, winces at every slight movement, feels a stinging heat in his eyes and a rawness in his skin – and then, with a long sigh, lets everything wash slowly away.

At long last, it’s complete. It’s beautiful, and he knows that Austria will like it. 

Austria won’t know what it means, but Switzerland is fine with him not knowing.

\---

When Christmas rolls around, Switzerland knocks on Austria’s door.

It opens, and the space before Switzerland that had been filled with the dark night air floods with golden light. Framed in the wide doorway, Austria cuts a slender figure. Faintly, Switzerland hears someone call Austria’s name. There’s a party going on behind Austria – Switzerland had turned the invitation down, and it’s gone on in his absence.

He hands the scarf to Austria, saying that he made it. They talk for a while, not really saying anything but feeling the need to fill the space between them with words. Austria asks Switzerland to come in; Switzerland replies that he has to go home. Austria thanks Switzerland for the gift.

And then the door shuts, and Austria is gone.

Switzerland’s hands feel heavy.

It’s finally over.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I’m aware that love actually comes from the brain, not the heart. Just…just let me have this, okay? XD


End file.
